


To Kiss A Stranger:Bilbo

by Bead



Series: To Kiss A Stranger [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2179485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori has convinced two of his friends to participate in a project of his, First Kiss, where twenty strangers kiss someone for the first time, without knowing much about them at all.  </p><p>Inspired by the video that went viral last spring, "First Kiss."  There's a link to it on the "To Kiss A Stranger: Bella" page</p><p>Many thanks to bubbysbub and everbright-mourning for beta work and cheerleading.  Y'all rock!</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Kiss A Stranger:Bilbo

Thorin prowled in a circle around the set and came to a decision. “Right, it’s clear he’s not coming,” he growled to Ori, who was fiddling with lights he’d set twenty minutes ago. “I’m off.” 

“No, please, I’m sure he’s just held up in traffic.” 

“He could have _called_ , right?” 

“Well, yes, but…” 

“But nothing, clearly this _person_ is not interested in participating in your project, is just plain rude, or…” Thorin broke off, realizing how angry he was at being stood up for this insane little project of Ori’s, realizing that without knowing it, he’d looked forward to meeting who Ori would match him up with, and worst of all, he had been really looking forward to kissing someone. Because he’d been wrapped up in his family and his own projects for so long…. seriously, of all the pathetic...

“I still consider us even, Ori. I did my part.” He waved his hand in a dismissing gesture. “Not my fault he didn’t show.” 

“Of course it’s not. Thorin, please, if you could just wait for few more moments, I’ll see if I can reach his mobile again. Please, if you could be just a little more patient.” 

“I’ll have you know I have been very patient!” Thorin found himself rounding on Ori a few steps from the door and growled, far too loud, right in his face, his temper unraveling because of that stupid, stupid _disappointment._ “Very patient,” he added softly, chagrined. 

“And I appreciate your ‘patience’,” a soft voice drawled behind him, dripping with sarcasm and nerves. “So, if you’d be so kind as to step away from Ori?” 

Thorin closed his eyes. “You might have told me he was right behind me.” 

“He j-just walked in,” Ori said, and darted around him to greet the man. “Bilbo! So glad to see you.” 

His hands curling into fists, Thorin held on to the remains of his temper as he walked to retrieve his scarf, forgotten on a chair halfway across the room. Still annoyed with himself, he looped it tightly around his neck. 

“And I apologize,” the new voice, Bilbo, added in a warmer tone to Ori. “I’m afraid I forgot my phone this morning. Sorry for keeping you waiting. Stuck in traffic for what seemed like an eternity.” 

“Could happen to anybody,” Ori said kindly. “I’m glad you’re here and all right.” 

“And I apologize to you, as well,” Bilbo said loudly. “Mr…”

“Thorin,” Ori prompted.

“Mr. Thorin, that my tardiness made you think the worst of me. I understand, I would have, too.” 

Thorin took a deep breath and turned around, not quite able to look the newcomer in the eye. “I apologize that you saw me in a temper. Please know that Ori is as dear to me as my own nephews, who he grew up with. I would never hurt him.” 

“Oh, Thorin of course not, I know you were just…” Ori said. 

“No, Ori,” Thorin spoke over him. “I can only imagine the picture we made when Mr….” He dared to flick his eyes over to Bilbo, who met his gaze, attractive and clearly intelligent. Thorin gritted his teeth when more disappointment flooded him. He’d cocked this up right well. 

“Baggins,” Bilbo said, still regarding Thorin steadily. “Bilbo Baggins.” 

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service,” Thorin found himself saying with a half-bow, retreating to the formality drilled into him from Grand-mère’s dance lessons. Bilbo, his eyes slightly less censorious, gave a slight bow back. Silence stretched between them. 

“Right,” Bilbo said, softly as he regarded Thorin. “You’re Dwalin’s friend.” 

Ori flung out his arms between them, as if a fight were about to start. “No, I mean yes! No, argh, _wait!_ You’re supposed to be strangers, if not to me, then to each other. I was going to tell you not to give your last names, so….” He stood up straighter, and firmed his chin. “I’d appreciate you not going any farther for the project’s sake. That’s not the way I mean for you to find your comfort level with each other.” 

Thorin bowed his head and toed the floor for a moment, trying to pinpoint when he had decided not to leave. There was something about the little man, Baggins, no, _Bilbo_ , that was oddly...despite his short stature, he was really rather dignified, clearly a loyal friend, and...he looked back up to find Bilbo regarding him silently again, no longer angry and judging him, but actually looking slightly disappointed. 

“Understood,” he said to Ori. “Still,” he added, with another slight bow to Bilbo. “At your service.” 

“Are you _really?_ ” Bilbo asked lightly, his head tilted to one side, that look in his eyes again that seemed to be weighing Thorin, Ori, the whole situation, but...mostly Thorin, and finding him lacking. “You aren’t still preparing to storm out?” 

Thorin took a long, deep breath, knowing he was glaring, but not about to give Bilbo the satisfaction of seeing his temper again. “I made a promise to return a favor to a friend,” he replied as gently as he could, gesturing to Ori. “Although, now you’ve arrived... But,” he found himself adding stiffly. “I understand if you’d prefer another partner.” He turned to Ori, who was looking at him with a most un-Ori measuring look. 

“What? You want me out?” 

“No, no, that’s not it at all,” Ori said, his eyes far away, a very familiar look to friends and family. Ori was seeing something in his head, creating, measuring elements. “I’d very much like you to stay, if Bilbo’s okay with it.” 

“You, you _want_ to see how things will go with two people who dislike each other on sight?” Bilbo snapped, clearly incredulous. 

“That’s not it at all!” Ori cried.

Thorin, at the same time, growled, “Dislike you? Just because I was in a bit of a temper when you came in…” 

“Well, pardon me for thinking you were about to eat a dear friend alive!” 

“I care for Ori like he was one of my own boys, my own nephews, I’d never….” 

“I wouldn’t know that, would I, seeing as he’s never _mentioned_ an almost-uncle…”

“Probably because someone like you wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Pardon me, but you seem just a tad judgemental, coming here and sizing up the scene, not willing to hear any other opinions but your own.”

“I see, and just how would you explain away yelling in Ori’s face that you’ve been very patient?” 

“Bilbo, I know he wasn’t mad at me, he…”

“I really would appreciate it if you let Thorin explain it.”

“Yes, Ori, you wouldn’t want to sound like I batter you on a regular basis.” 

“You didn’t hit him, you yelled at him.” 

“We all know abuse is abuse,” Thorin growled. Bilbo blinked. 

“Yes, yes it is,” he said softly, his demeanor changed. “Care to explain?” 

“Yes. No, well, _yes_ , but I wasn’t in a temper with Ori. And I was wrong to yell at him, completely out of line, and for that, Ori, I hope you accept my apologies...” 

Thorin broke off after Ori murmured his acceptance, walked in a broad circle around the set, back to the chair he’d tossed his scarf on before, contemplated taking his scarf and jacket off as a demonstration of willingness to stay, and thought the better of it, bracing himself for rejection. He made his way back to Bilbo and Ori, who was smiling encouragingly at him. Thorin had a quick thought of gratitude that the cameras (hopefully) weren’t rolling yet, catching him making an utter arse of himself, and cleared his throat. 

“Ori’s a cousin, and as I said, grew up with my nephews. We don’t see one another all that often, of late, but I’ve just come back to the city...” 

“Stay strangers, please…” Ori warned softly. 

“Right, yes, sorry,” Thorin said, took a deep breath and cleared his throat again. God, why was this so hard to say? 

“Bilbo, the honest truth is that I was losing my temper because, against any expectations - in fact, I thought I had _no_ expectations, until seconds before my outburst - I came to do a favor for my cousin, a bit of an odd one, and...and...I found myself unreasonably disappointed than I ever imagined when you didn’t show, and then...well..”

“Angry with yourself for getting your hopes up,” Bilbo finished for him, and when Thorin looked up, Bilbo’s eyes were understanding, even kind. Thorin felt himself burn with a slow flush. He looked at the floor again before he saw anything like pity in Bilbo’s eyes. 

“So, now that I’ve embarrassed myself and made everyone uncomfortable, perhaps I should….” Thorin said to the floor. 

“Well,” Bilbo replied lightly, a cheerful tone at odds with anything that had happened so far. “If you’re done being unreasonable, Mr. Oaken… _Thorin,_ I rather think it’s high time we get started, hmm. Don’t you think so, Ori?” 

“Um, well…” 

Thorin looked up in startlement, and Bilbo was smiling warmly, and handing his umbrella to the dumbfounded Ori. He cocked his head at Thorin, inviting, and began to unbutton his suit jacket. 

Nattily, almost on the edge of fussily dressed, Bilbo was neat and trim in a pinstripe suit, waistcoat, colorful pocket square and matching tie, far more formal than Thorin’s old “I may have to go to a project site any moment,” jeans and jumper. 

As Thorin stared, Bilbo shucked off his jacket and made his way to the side of the set, draped it over a chair, and began to work on his cuffs, rolling them up and displaying surprisingly toned forearms. Thorin swallowed, shook himself and began to work on removing his own outer layers, drifting over to where Bilbo was standing to set his own clothes aside. 

Bilbo slanted him a small smile, warm, approving, still working on his second cuff, and Thorin turned on his heel and went near where Ori wanted them to stand, in front of an empty table and chairs, annoyed with himself that he had flushed, pleased by that small smile. 

He watched Ori whisper instructions to Bifur, his cameraman, who had walked in the door, then took up contemplating the back wall of the studio. 

“Where do you want us to stand, Ori?” Bilbo called out, looking toward Thorin with his hands in his pockets. He’d taken off his tie, too. He looked oddly boyish, his sandy hair falling across his forehead, and there was something...Thorin couldn’t put his finger on it, but he liked it, and was annoyed that he liked it, and nearly put his head in his hands, and groaned because _what was it with this day_ that served up embarrassment after embarrassment. The most embarrassing of all, the hopeful, traitorous jump of his heart every time the man smiled. 

Bilbo ambled over to Thorin, and looked up, and up, and shook his head, laughing. “Well. Might someone get me a stepladder?” Thorin ducked his head and from under his brow, gave Bilbo a small, sarcastic smile. 

“Here,” he said, surprising both of them by reaching for Bilbo’s hand. He walked them over to the small table, put his hand on it, testing its strength. After releasing Bilbo’s hand, he sat on it, spread his legs to make room, and raised his eyebrows at Bilbo. Bilbo, his eyes on level now with Thorin’s, raised his own eyebrows back. 

“Well, all right then,” he said, decisive, lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and tugged his waistcoat down with the air of someone about to go into battle. As he stepped between Thorin’s legs, his chin went down a bit, and by the time he was close enough to kiss, the look he darted Thorin was shy. 

“Look, Bilbo, if you’re still uncomfortable,” Thorin growled, sounding half-sympathetic and half-menacing to his own ears. He winced. “I know we got off on the wrong foot…” 

“Finding a way to get comfortable enough with each other to get close is rather the point,” Bilbo said crispy, his nerves showing, something Thorin was oddly thankful for. “You done being unreasonably disappointed?” he asked softly. 

Thorin found himself answering Bilbo’s smile as he thought about it. “Yes.” 

Bilbo’s smile grew warmer and broader. “Good. And thank you for this.” He gestured with his head to the table. 

The only thing that rose to Thorin’s mind to say was “My pleasure,” and it certainly was not that. Yet. If ever. So he simply nodded. 

Bilbo took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and when he opened them, smiled softly and said. “Right. Starting over.” He edged just a touch closer, took Thorin’s face in his hands and said,“Hello, I’m Bilbo,” and slid his hands comfortingly from cheeks to shoulders. “My mission today is to snog the living daylights out of you.”

Thorin was so surprised that he barked out a laugh, and Bilbo squeezed his shoulders slightly and let his hands fall away. Thorin caught them and gave Bilbo a level look. “My name is Thorin, and not if I don’t snog the daylights out of _you_ , first.”

“Competitive? How surprising,” Bilbo drawled, dry as dust. 

“Cheeky? I am shocked, shocked.” And when Bilbo smiled, sly and a little fond, Thorin lifted one of his hands and kissed it. 

“Ah, but gallant,” Bilbo murmured, approving, a catch in his voice. “I noticed your courtly manners when you bowed.” 

“Mmm,” Thorin said, holding his eyes, kissed his palm, took a deep mental breath, and gave in to impulse. 

“For the right man, the right moment,” he said softly, his voice dipping low, his pulse loud in his own ears.

Bilbo swayed closer. “And is this the moment? Has competition begun?” he breathed. His eyes flicked to Thorin’s mouth.

Thorin kissed his palm again, slow and lavish, then bit the heel of his hand tenderly, and enjoyed watching Bilbo’s pupils blow wide. 

“Or is this a seduction?” Bilbo asked.

He regarded Bilbo’s thumb seriously. “It might be both,” he replied, and raised his eyes to catch Bilbo’s deliciously dark gaze. “Problem?” 

“Nope,” Bilbo replied, popping the “p,” but his expression was serious as he reached out to trace the contours of Thorin’s mouth, stroke his beard, lift a lock of Thorin’s hair. “Not a problem or a hardship.” 

“I _would_ hate to put you out,” Thorin purred, solicitous. “Would hate to trouble you.” 

“Oh, you most certainly will be trouble. And you won’t put me out. I rather think you’re going to keep me. Or vice versa.” Bilbo purred back, and the dangerous timbre of his voice hit Thorin with flash of heat. He inhaled sharply. 

“Is that so? Why?” he growled.

“Because, my dear Thorin, you underestimate me,” Bilbo said, holding his eyes and leaning in, stopping centimeters from his mouth. 

“Is that so?” Thorin said again, and put his hand on the nape of Bilbo’s neck, preparing to haul him in, but before he could, Bilbo surged forward in a flash and had taken possession of Thorin’s mouth in a skillful, searing kiss. 

He put his arms around Thorin, drawing him tight to his chest, tilted his head just so, and, well the only word Thorin could manage to gather together was “plundered,” his mouth, giving no quarter until Thorin was gasping and clutching at him, straining to get closer. Bilbo slowed the kiss into sweetness, taking Thorin’s mouth with such confidence, Thorin relented and just let him take what he wished, happily along for the ride. 

When the kiss ended, Bilbo pulled back to look at him, hazy eyed. It took Thorin a moment to get his voice to work. 

“Won’t be underestimating you again,” he ground out. 

“See that you don’t,” Bilbo replied, his eyes intent. 

“This is seduction,” Thorin whispered, almost mouthed, hoping to keep it between them. 

Bilbo stared at his mouth, then shifted so he could touch Thorin’s face, stroke his hair until he reached Thorin’s shoulder, then pulled him into a hug. 

“This is whatever you want it to be,” he whispered, very low, in his ear.

Thorin pulled back until he could look Bilbo in the eye. Thorin watched his face for a moment, taking in Bilbo’s open, frank expression, his acceptance, then leaned in for his own kisses, meaning to match the first kiss’ intensity, but finding himself kissing Bilbo with tenderness, a tenderness that just seemed natural to offer. Bilbo made a soft sound of longing against Thorin's lips. 

Growling his approval, he took a deep breath and slowed down until their mouths were barely touching, then dove in again with gentle restraint and licked Bilbo's lower lip, asking. Bilbo opened up for him with a soft sigh. The kiss built from slow and tender to slow and devouring, with more far intent than they should be flirting with in front of cameras, clutching at one another, and both of them breathing hard. He pulled Bilbo into a hug and put his mouth next to his curiously pointed ear. 

“I want everything,” he dared confess. 

“That can be arranged,” Bilbo murmured with a shiver that made Thorin curl him as close as possible. Bilbo took an unsteady breath as he stroked Thorin’s hair in long, delicious strokes. Thorin couldn’t help the soft noise of pleasure that escaped his throat. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you,” Bilbo breathed, and thrust his hand through the hair at Thorin’s nape and massaged, his compact, clever hands strong and steady. Thorin melted. 

“Ah, you like that very much,” he said, pleased, and pulled Thorin into a leisurely kiss. Thorin swayed into it, his hands falling to Bilbo hips, and sighed, feeling both turned on and content, settled, as if they both knew where this was going, and there was no rush. It might even be true. He let his fingers wander underneath the edge of Bilbo’s waistcoat, and Bilbo hummed happily against his mouth. 

“Don’t look so smug,” Thorin growled when the kiss ended. 

“Oh, I have every reason to be smug,” Bilbo replied cheerfully. 

“Cheeky.” 

“Cranky arse.” 

Thorin snorted, and leaned around Bilbo to address Ori. “We done here?” 

Ori nodded at him, eyes wide. “Yes, thank you, that was. Um, that was….” 

Bilbo turned to look, and the tableaux of director and cameraman wearing identical gobsmacked expressions made him giggle. He leaned into Thorin, who gathered him into his arms. He did not hesitate to snuggle in, and got a long, comfortable squeeze for his trouble. 

“Problem?” he asked Ori and Bifur, and tried not to let his eyes roll back in his head while Thorin slid a hand up his back into his hair and massaged lightly. He could feel Thorin’s breath on his neck. It was very distracting to hold a conversation like this, but he wasn’t moving for the world. “Is there a problem?” he asked again, his voice breaking halfway through. He felt more than heard Thorin’s amused rumble. 

Bifur gave him an incredulous look and shook his head. Ori shook his head as if to clear it. “I think that might have been almost, _almost_ mind you, too hot to use. Um. Good job?” 

Thorin’s hands tightened on him. ”Don’t be smug,” he hissed. 

“Oh,” Bilbo said, turning to meet annoyed gorgeous blue eyes. “I don’t think I can help it.” 

“Idiot,” Thorin grumped, and kissed him to punctuate his remark. The kiss got away from him and he forgot what he was grumpy about, remembered, bit the plush of Bilbo’s bottom lip and pulled back to glare at him. Bilbo beamed and rocked on his heels. 

“Oh shut up,” he ground out, and Bilbo threw back his head and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> It was interesting to play with a dynamic that included cranky!Thorin! And I think a bit of John Watson might have bled into Bilbo, but I always think of him, under his sometimes fussy manners, as a BAMF. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, if you're inspired to! 
> 
> Honestly, I was planning on doing an "Undress Me," to parallel Bella's, but if they are behaving like this, I think it would be more like "Ori's Studio Bursts Into Flames."


End file.
